


Flaws

by ObjectPermanence



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anorexia, Cutting, Drug Addiction, Eating Disorders, Hallucinations, Hypochondria, M/M, Medication, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Hospital, Multiple Personalities, Non-Consensual Drug Use, PTSD, Paranoia, Personality Disorder, Rehabilitation, basically everyone is crazy and unstable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObjectPermanence/pseuds/ObjectPermanence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras had picked up a few habits in college; drinking coffee late at night to finish essays, chewing the end of his pencils, and taking pain pills to rid himself of the headaches that resulted from lack of sleep. He didn't think it was a problem before the accident. The next thing he knows he's been committed to the Musian Center for Recovery and Rehabilitation. While there he meets a dysfunctional group of friends, including his cynical alcoholic roommate that is convinced Enjolras is the Earthly incarnation of the Greek god Apollo. Things can't get much worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flaws

**Author's Note:**

> But DewPaw where is the next chapter of Kings of Men? Hush, as a Swede one said, "Don't you worry, don't you worry child. See heaven's got a plan for you."  
> It's coming I promise, but I've been wanting to write this for over a month now, so just enjoy.

His shirt is red. Not like a soft, calm, inviting red. It's the color of blood. It hung loosely on his thin frame, a t-shirt that covered down to the middle of his thigh, brushing the scratchy gray pants he'd been given. A thin yellow band accented the ends of his sleeves and collar.  His street clothes had been confiscated and replaced by the regulation uniform that identified him as a patient suffering from a pill addiction. Not that he saw it as an addiction, more of a routine that could be changed easily and without much effort, not something that would require being committed to a clinic. The accident was just that: an accident.

"Enjolras, it's time for dinner." A young nurse knocked on the frame of his door before inching her way inside. She had long brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, despite being pulled back into a high ponytail. Her immaculate white scrubs classified her as an orderly at the hospital.

He nodded numbly, and rose from his seat on the edge of the single bed that he'd been given. The room was much smaller than his apartment and made him feel isolated even though another nurse had told him that he would get a roommate soon. However, the starch white walls and vaguely beige carpet floor did little to make him feel at ease. Other than the track lights along the ceiling the only other source of lights in the dull room was a small barred window above the head of his bed.

Silently, Enjolras shuffled down the hall in his socks, following the nurse to the dining hall on the other end of the compound. The Musian Center for Recovery and Rehabilitation was about 1.5 square miles and three stories tall. The place was a sort of town icon and attraction. It was a common pastime for school children to ride their biked out to the giant white structure and throw rocks at the windows, trying to annoy the patients, usually resulting in a panic attack or break down from one of the more unstable residents.

Enjolras glanced around the larger room, the same shade of white as his room, taking in as much information as he could. There were 16 tables that seated 10 people each. The food line was located in the west end of the room and there was a staircase leading to the second floor in the northeastern corner. He sighed as the nurse left, and brushing a lock of blonde hair behind his shoulder, strode over to the line of patients waiting for food. Each resident had a different colored shirt with a different border that identified why he was committed; red shirt for drugs, yellow band for pain pills, yellow shirt for eating disorders, pink band for anorexia, ect. They made a rainbow of dysfunctionality.  

He picked up a tray and absentmindedly moved with the line, collecting his dinner of spaghetti with red sauce and a piece of French bread, along with a small carton of milk that reminded him of his days at primary school. Enjolras ground his teeth together and paced towards an empty table in the southwestern end of the room. The spaghetti wasn't too bad, slightly over cooked but otherwise good.

A young boy, no older than nineteen, with short red hair, bright green eyes and freckles sat down opposite Enjolras with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. His shirt was purple with dark green trim. "Hey! You're new here!" He seemed rather pleased with himself, his smile seeming to grow wider if that was possible.  "I'm Feuilly, by the way." The ginger extended his hand expectantly; setting his tray down with a clatter that was lost in the noise of the dining room.

Enjolras accepted Feuilly's hand and shook it firmly, "Enjolras."

The boy's smile relaxed slightly, though he was still visibly bursting with happiness as he shoveled spaghetti into his mouth. He ate quickly and in a matter of moments the tray in front of him was completely empty, an impressive feat considering that he was so small.

"Feuilly!" A boy that was a few inches taller than Enjolras came up behind the blonde and sat down next to the ginger. He had a dark pink shirt with black trip that matched the dark circles under his hazel eyes. His dark hair was slightly longer than Feuilly's and stuck up in multiple directions. He greeted Feuilly with a smile and slapped him on the back that sent the smaller boy a few inches forward in his seat. "The others should be over in a minute."

"Great!" The ginger replied, pushing his tray away from himself and leaving back in his char with his arms behind his head. "Oh, this is Enjolras, by the way." He nodded towards the blonde and then pointed towards the new comer. "Enjolras, this is Bahorel." And with a chuckle he added, "Don't cross him or you'll be sorry."   Enjolras nodded towards Bahorel who waved with two fingers before digging into the food on his tray.  

A moment later five other boys, ranging in age from 20-ish to 25-ish wandered over to the table and pulled up seats, each greeting Feuilly and Bahorel with smiles or slaps to the back. Enjolras was mostly silent as each was introduced to him, only nodding and smiling at each one. There was Jehan, the tiny blonde dressed in a yellow shirt with light pink trim, who poked at his food with his fork. Joly, who refused to shake his hand because You could have MRSA and I'm only 23 and I'd prefer not to die before 24. Courfeyrac, dressed in light purple with light green trim, who seemed hell-bent on mopping up as much extra sauce as humanly possible with the few pieces of bread on his plate. Bossuet, constantly looking over his shoulder with a panicked expression, dressed in light blue with purple trim. Combeferre seemed the most normal of all of them, his dark blue shirt with light brown trim hung loosely from his broad shoulders, a pair of glasses was perched from on the bridge of his nose. 

"God this is good." Courfeyrac mumbled around a mouthful of bread, a small bit of sauce was smeared across his chin. He swallowed and smirked at Enjolras. "So new guy, what do you think of our humble facility?"

"Um-it's okay. I haven't had much of a chance to explore it yet, but it's seems good enough." Enjolras downed the rest of his milk and shrugged. "I don't know, is there something that should have knocked my socks off yet?"

Courfeyrac laughed quietly, "Well, the nurses aren't too bad." He elbowed Jehan, who had yet to touch his food, in the side. "Am I right, Prouviare?"

The small boy nodded silently and smiled at the wavy haired brunette.

Enjolras shifted in his seat and poked at the few crumbs on bread on his plate with his fork. "Yeah, I guess." He mumbled quietly, glancing around the dining room. There were orderlies at every entrance, all of the tables were deserted except for their own, leaving the eight of them completely alone in the large room. "So, how long have you been in?" He asked the entire table out of curiosity. Enjolras had no plans of staying more than a few weeks, but his hopes of a quick departure were cut short by the other's answers.

"Two years." Joly waved his hand dismissively.

"One year, four months." Jehan mumbled around a small piece of bread he was nibbling at.

Feuilly poked his fork through the Styrofoam of his tray, "One year, six months."

Courfeyrac scratched the base of his neck where his brown, wavy hair met his porcelain skin. "One year." 

"About three years, give of take a few months." Combeferre pushed his glasses further up his nose and squinted at the label on his milk.

Bahorel placed a hand on Bossuet’s shoulder and laughed loudly, "And we got here around six months ago, right?" The smaller boy nodded, tugging on the collar of his shirt absent-mindedly.

Enjolras looked around the table at the group of young men, all seemingly at ease in the hospital. He was shocked that any of them had been there for so long, they all seemed relatively normal, save Bossuet who was constantly on edge and looking over his shoulder. "So, you guys just live here?"

Combeferre nodded, still focused on his milk carton, and not daring to look Enjolras in the eye. He seemed like the most normal of the group. There didn't seem to be anything obviously wrong with him, and as far as Enjolras could tell he seemed like a perfectly healthy young man. But that entire facade was shattered when the large double doors on the other end of the room slammed open with a resounding bang that echoed throughout the dining room. The bespectacled boy let out a strangled yelp and slapped his hand over his ears, squeezed his pale blue eyes shut, and pulled his legs up onto his seat, effectively making him five times smaller than before. Bossuet had a similar reaction: grabbing onto Joly's arm tightly, his eyes filled with fear as he looked towards the door where two large orderlies were dragging someone dressed in a dark green shirt through the doors.

Enjolras jumped in his seat when the two men dressed in white shoved the figure towards their table. However, the man stumbled and ended up falling flat on his face. "Did R sneak out again?" Courfeyrac laughed as the orderly's slammed the doors shut behind them.

The young man pushed himself up to his knees and waved at the group, a slight smile visible on his lips. His dark mop of curly hair hung in his eyes and stuck up on the right side. A light sweep of dark stubble decorated his jaw, giving him a generally disheveled appearance. The boy stood up, leaning on an empty table for stability for a moment, before making his way towards the group that had formed around Enjolras. "Worth it." He slurred, dropping into a seat two away on Enjolras's left side.

Jehan chuckled when the new comer leaned back in his chair and almost fell backwards. "You didn't sneak out again, did you R?"

"Oh sweet Jehan, of course I did!" The boy, seemingly named R, ruffled the blonde's hair with a slightly tipsy smile. Enjolras could now see that the dark haired boy had shockingly bright blue eyes that glinted with happiness.

"You're supposed to be getting better." He pointed out; poking R is the shoulder with his index finger. "Not sneaking out every other week!"

"And you're supposed to be eating instead of having Courfeyrac eat all your food." R shot back, looking pleased when Jehan frowned ad clamped his mouth shut. "So, what'd I miss?" He clapped his hands together and looked expectantly at Combeferre, who had calmed down once he discovered the source of the noise.

"Well, spaghetti night for one." He gestured to the empty plates in front of them, "And we've got a new guy." He jammed his thumb towards Enjolras with a smile.

R turned and his eyes instantly locked on Enjolras, surveying him up and down with an appraising eye. "Grantaire." Before Enjolras could introduce himself Grantaire continued talking. His deep blue eyes seemed to see into the blonde's soul. "It's nice to make your acquaintance, Apollo. May I just say you are even more handsome in person than in any classical painting or bust? Truly a divine visage! One would think that the gods themselves must have carved you from the finest marble of Mount Olympus! Oh, how wonderful it must be to hold such power through appearance alone!" Grantaire shook his head, curls bouncing and framing his face, creating a sort of reverse halo around his ivory skin. "But how tragic! Oh Apollo, forever innocent and without romantic love on Earth after the death of poor Hyacinth! Chaste on Earth, but coupling in the infinite! Forgotten kisses, memories stolen by time. The touch of another’s hand in the dark reaching out to brush your divine figure in the hopes of a memory stirring. You make love amongst the stars!" The dark haired boy reached out in an attempt to touch Enjolras's hand, but instead found himself slumping forward onto the table, snoring softly a moment later.

Enjolras sat rigid in his seat, watching as Grantaire fell into a drunken slumber on their table, his hand still extended towards the blonde's.

"Sorry, he does that sometimes." Courfeyrac explained with a wave of his hand. "The whole passing out thing, that happens whenever he sneaks out and drinks. I've never seen the whole Apollo thing before. That’s all you, buddy." The brunette smiled and placed a hand on Grantaire's back.

Combeferre set his carton down and looked at the clock on the wall, "It's getting late, we should turn in." He placed a hand on Feuilly's shoulder and the entire group picked up their trays and deposited them into the trash bin next to the door.

Bahorel turned to Enjolras and nodded towards Grantaire, "I suspect he's your missing roommate. We should get him to bed."

With lost of effort and ingenuity the two boys managed to half walk, half carry the drunk boy down the hall to their shared room. Grantaire was much heavier than he looked, most likely from the well-defined muscles that peeked out from underneath his shirt when it rode up occasionally.  Along the way Enjolras noticed systematic scars along Bahorel's wrists, but thought better than to mention them.  

"Here we are." Enjolras stopped outside their room and pushed the door open. He and Bahorel tucked Grantaire into the unoccupied bed across the room from Enjolras's, pulling the gray sheets up to his chin. "I'll see you in group session tomorrow morning, Apollo!" Bahorel mocked Grantaire's reverent tone, clasping his hands together as if in prayer, before laughing to himself as he shuffled out the door. 

Enjolras closed the door behind him and sat down on his bed, kicking off his socks before crawling between the sheets. They were too scratchy, but the pillow was soft and inviting. A thin beam of moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating Grantaire's dark curls that were splayed out on his pillow. Enjolras sighed and shut his eyes. The soft snores of Grantaire lulling him to sleep.


End file.
